Male Bonds Develop Differently, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Ought We Halt Efforts to Turn Men More Like Women?
It is healthy to talk. Or so men are repeatedly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can look oddly hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits nobody.
Rethinking the Value of Silent Friendship
Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated.
This muted model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow suggests.
Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how toddlers play—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also value less talk.
Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Care
Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right?
From a woman's viewpoint, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, yearning, disappointment, or pride for hours.
What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what looks remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room.
The Essential Issue: Is Connection Require Words?
This is not the preferred way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that another person is there enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, does that always be articulated with words?
The debate continues. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship carry equal worth, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in their own effective way.
